


in crisis, souls are visible

by celebii



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Barbara Gordon is Oracle, Batfamily (DCU), Bruce Wayne is Batman, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne's Endless Battle Against an Unhealthy Guilt Complex, Damian Wayne is Muslim, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Duke Thomas is Signal, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, Tim Drake is Red Robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 17:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30126027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celebii/pseuds/celebii
Summary: Damian Wayne's hands are fit for more than shedding blood—he just hasn't realized it yet.Alternatively: 8 times Damian healed a member of his family.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Barbara Gordon & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91





	in crisis, souls are visible

Damian grits his teeth, yanking his boot up from the patch of unpaved ground it's sunk into. The Narrows is a vile, unyielding neighborhood, filled with criminal activity and the misery of the city’s slums, and he despises patrolling here. Tonight, he and Batgirl are tracing the edge of a warehouse, and he watches, bracing his back against the metal as she kneels and sticks a recording device to its side. _Preparation for future reconnaissance is important_ , Father had said in the Cave while they all discussed the night’s patrol, and of course Stephanie immediately volunteered the two of them for this chore. Typical.

“Aaand… there!” Stephanie whispers, pressing the center of the final device. It activates with a low _hiss_ , blinking to life, and she rises to her feet, swiping her hands against her knee pads. Damian eyes the recording network they’d set up—it’s good progress for a single night, something that will allow them to listen in around the entire range of the warehouse. He turns to face her, intent on heading back across the water. 

Stephanie’s expression freezes him in place, and his hand trails subconsciously to the blade tucked into his utility belt. Her eyes are wide behind the openings on her cowl, and her arms are outstretched, as if to grab him.

“Batgirl—” he says, voice rigid with confusion, and then several things happen at once.

Her arms circle around him, cape sweeping around his form. He chokes against how tightly she holds him, at the suddenness of the movement, and then a rapid explosion sounds. The dilapidated brick wall next to the warehouse crumbles, showering red dust down upon them, and the metal of the warehouse gives a great groaning sound as it's torn apart. The two of them tumble to the ground, and it’s not until his head hits against it that Damian realizes Stephanie’s arms have gone limp around him.

His ears pound as he lifts her off of himself, being as gentle as possible when he lays her on the ground. His gaze snaps around, trying to assess the situation—the brick wall has collapsed, creating a small recess where the two of them seem to be trapped, leaving only a few slight openings for light to trickle through. He glances downwards, and the blood drains from his face at the sight that greets him. Stephanie’s braid is matted against the ground, her skin unnaturally pale and beaded with sweat. Her pupils are blown, bloodshot and jittery as her eyes snap around in panic. The sight of her abdomen is the final nail in the coffin, immediately prompting him to move. Several pieces of shrapnel are embedded within the chinks of her kevlar, and Damian is barely thinking coherently when he begins rolling out the bandages in his utility belt, pressing them to the edges of her wounds.

He swallows thickly, running through the situation in his mind. Clearly, she must have seen something that prompted her to wrap her arms around him—in protection, he notes bitterly. Judging by the explosion, it must have been a bomb. But planted by who? And for what purpose? His mind flickers, sweeping him back to weeks spent in the cold of Nanda Parbat’s arching peaks. He is used to setting up camp in unseemly places, utilizing his environment to keep himself healed and ready for the next fight. He can do this. He must.

“Dami.”

The word comes out slurred, like a strange sigh. Damian’s stomach rolls when he hears it. It sounds wrong, way too high-pitched for Stephanie Brown, who laughs from her stomach and yells at inappropriate times and has developed her own certified Batgirl voice. It sounds like surrender.

Red has bloomed all over the bandages, and Damian curses quietly, rolling out a new set and applying pressure harder than before. Stephanie’s blood is seeping out of her sluggishly, rendering his gloves crimson-slicked and warm, and the sight of the pitiful rise and fall of her chest makes his face contort with anger and fear.

“‘S okay, Dami.”

He glares at her, at the stupid smile that won’t leave her face, at the way her teeth glint in the dust and darkness even when she’s in pain. He raises a single hand, bracing the other against the largest of the wounds, and taps at his comm. It beeps once, signalling entry into the main line, and then a faint bzzt greets him.

_Jammed_ , he processes slowly, silently.

“‘S okay,” she repeats.

“Don’t say that,” he snaps at her, more for his benefit than hers, and in her delirium, she lets out a low laugh.

“They’ll come,” she hums, and Damian stiffens. “Any sec now. ‘Racle and…Cass.”

“You don’t know that,” he snarls, pressing down harder—the blood won’t stop, it’s coming quicker than he can keep up with, and he bundles the last of the bandages in his utility belt in one hand. “The comms aren’t working, Brown. They won’t think to look at our trackers until...”

“Mm,” she hums, and when her eyes flutter shut, he snakes a hand forward, gripping her arm urgently and shocking them back open.

They enter a strange cycle, tinged with the rapid beating of Damian’s heart and the slow unravelling of the older vigilante’s circulation. Damian sticks close to his rhythm—apply pressure, check comms, keep Batgirl awake. The phrases are a silent mantra in his head, steadily clawing away at the situation in front of him, and before he knows it, he’s baring under armor to the freeze of Gotham’s winter, laying his cape and all he can of his suit against Stephanie’s form. Cold licks against his skin, biting and gnawing, and the stench of blood wafts around him. A single, ugly, panicked thought runs through him: _I’ve killed Gotham’s Batgirl. Father will get rid of me_.

Stephanie’s gloved hand wavers, trailing against the ground, and Damian grips it as tightly as he can. A lesson from Talia flickers through his mind: _No one’s a hero when they’re on the brink of death. They all revert to cowardice_.

He wonders if Stephanie is scared now, with life seeping out of her and nothing but his selfish, ineffective efforts to steep its flow. He wishes it was him who had the sense to know what was coming. His mind is elsewhere when he traces his fingers along the pads of hers, and to his surprise, she tightens against his grip weakly, head lolling.

It seems like a century before the comm beeps to life and he hears steps outside their alcove. Within seconds, the bricks surrounding them are yanked away, and he sees Black Bat and Red Robin standing before them, wearing equally shocked expressions. He wants to line his face with anger, to lash out at how slow they’re being to process the sight in front of them, but he doesn’t have the energy—to his abject horror and embarrassment, all that comes instead are tears, slow and sluggish as they descend down his face and make his eyes sting, catching in his domino.

Cassandra and Tim move in unison, with Tim tying a tourniquet around Stephanie’s middle before lifting her gently and Cassandra tucking Damian into her arms. Her steps are swift and silent as she sprints to the Batmobile, murmuring words of comfort and smoothing his hair. He remains stiff in her hold, staring up at the smog of the Narrows. He hates this neighborhood.

“He’s freezing,” Cassandra informs Tim when she slips Damian into the backseat of the Batmobile, right next to Stephanie’s inclined form. Gratitude blooms in his chest—the glint of the golden bat symbol on her chest is rising and falling gently. She is alive.

A duaa is on Damian’s lips, a small prayer of thanks his mother taught him in whispers during his time at the League. The Batmobile is moving—as usual, it glides along the ground perfectly, and the only way he can tell Tim is driving is the incline of his shoulders and the swiping of buildings past them. Judging by the blinking of the map between the two front seats, Leslie’s clinic is their destination. Cassandra glances back at the two of them. Her mask is off, deep brown eyes crinkled in a mix of fear and love.

“Good job, Robin,” she says simply. “You saved her. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments are appreciated! each chapter of this fic will center around a different member of the batfamily & damian (that's why the chapters are titled & and then a character's name).


End file.
